


You found me.

by SamaelChandra



Series: After the end. [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamaelChandra/pseuds/SamaelChandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, the Reapers are no longer a threat and the galaxy is slowly returning to its life. Commander Shepard survived to the final battle, but ended up in a coma that lasted a year. After waking up, Shepard apprehends that all of her comrades moved on and forgot about her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good ending? I don't know, I can't exactly think of a 'sane' Shepard, not after what happened on Earth and what kind of hell she went through. She think everyon forgot her but, who knows. I felt the need to write a Shega.

The pale rays of the sun shone through the curtains, giving Shepard the hint that it was almost time to get up from her bed and get something to eat; life's rhythm was as slow as ever, almost making feel her uneasy, uncomfortable with her new situation as a “civilian”, slowly recovering from the trauma she had gained when the final battle was to be fought.  
Lazily, she slid out from the covers and walked up to the bathroom, ready to look up in the mirror, to look at her reflection, again; it shouldn't sound like a bad thing, but she hated that stupid thing hanging on the wall, forcing her to see how she looked. Shadows circling her turquoise eyes, scars that still needed to be treated, lips too red from the her own bites and her stupid collarbones, too prominent, too highlighted by her pale and freckled skin and by her long, straight, red hair.  
She had to wash her face thrice to feel as if she slept for all the night, to give the impression she was as active as ever, to lie another day to her fans without feeling too guilty.  
  
 _They've moved on._  
  
One year of coma and they all moved on, leaving her to rot in a hospital. Leaving her alone. And now, the only thing she could do was to attend this pompous charity nights, in which everyone offered their regards to the Commander, the one who had saved the galaxy, the woman who put an end to the Reapers' war; always the center of many attentions, men, women, she was on everyone's lips, there wasn't a single person in the galaxy who didn't know that Commander Shepard was alive, again.  
  
And she closed her eyes, as the cold water met her warm skin.  
  
 _You were dead, they had nothing to fight for, nothing to keep them together._  
  
She shook her head and opened her eyes, the flashing lights of the club forcing her to look away for a moment, only to notice her doctor controlling her pulse. “I'm sorry, ma'am, I've thought you were going through one of your moments...” She raised her hand and arched her lips slightly, almost smiling; from the moment she gained consciousness in her hospital bed, Shepard never spoke a single word again, no one knew why, therapists still tried to enter into the complicated maze that was her mind, but to no avail. Most of them simply thought it was because of the trauma, she had lost weight because she couldn't fight, she had lost self esteem for the same reason and all of that.  
She slowly returned to lean against the bar counter, closing her eyes and waiting for the next person to come up with a formal invitation for a party, for an autograph...  
But the hand that was touching her shoulder sent a shiver down her spine, a familiar warmth began to grow in her heart.  
  
 _Shepard... Shepard..._  
  
“Shepard?” a male voice murmured from behind her shoulders. It was distant, across the room, suffocated by the music, the noises of people talking, screaming, but she could feel it as if it was near her. She slowly turned, her hair sliding down on her back, uncovering her neck and her military  plates, resting on the top she was wearing. “Lola...” and, suddenly, the music was gone, no one was in the room besides her and the man standing in the opposite side of the room; her turquoise eyes flashed open and everyone reappeared, but he was standing in front of her. “You're alive...” she chuckled in response and stood up, hand signing him to follow her as she walked to a set of stairs.  
  
 _You gave them one hell of a show, Lola._  
  
She guided him into a room, the door closing upon his entrance; everything went quiet and the man felt like he should have said something but his shocked face told a different story. “Lola. You're alive. You...” “I am alive.” was the only response he got from the woman standing in front of him, her soft, murmured words got into his ears and directly into his brain, forcing him to elaborate what had just happened, what he had just heard from that person standing right in front of him. “They said. They said you hadn't got a chance.” “They were wrong.” “They said you were far too gone.” “I was gone.” “They said you would've been dead by the morning lights.” “I was dead.” “Why are you here, then Who are you? Where is...” “I gave them one hell of a show... James.” and she smiled. For the first time in a whole year and she smiled for the man standing in front of her, his hands shaking as he tried to overcome his own feelings.  
  
But he soon find himself embracing her, his arms around her waist, his forehead against hers. “You did, Lola. You did.”  
  
As a single tear fell from her eyes, she began to feel alive. 


	2. The bitter end.

A year passed by since that day. A year and a month, filled with pain and sadness, something that was impossible to forget, even after nights spent drinking until he felt nothing but her voice in his head. It was the 23rd drink, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the empty glass on the counter, head hanging low, eyes closed and visor turned off, in a vain hope to get over everything for once; he had done the same thing over and over, every night since that day, but her voice, her face, her blood... Never got away from his mind, no matter how much alcohol he was to drink, no matter how many hours he was to spend working as the Primarch.

She would've been proud of him, all propped up as a respectable person, occupying the highest rank in the Turian hierarchy after the heroic death of Adrien Victus.

 

_It'd be an awfully empty galaxy without you._

 

He gulped down his drink and finally left the bar. It was almost midnight and it took several minutes for him to get into his apartment and check his personal computer, trying to sit down on the chair instead on the floor, as he was used to when he was mildly drunk; though he had spent too much time drinking those... _Things_ and alcohol didn't do much anymore. It was a placebo, nothing more, it just helped him to feel alright for the night. Still feeling quite dizzy, he opened the inbox and began reading mails coming from the various Turian's colonies all around the galaxy: authorizations for medi gel refill, squads that needed to be sent in a place or another... And a letter, without any name written on it.

 

“She's **alive**.”

 

From what he knew, it could've been a terrible mistake, a stupid joke...

Hope. That's what he thought it was. A seed that finally had sprouted in his heart. He quickly disposed a ship and took the coordinates, without thinking twice; there wasn't time for any second thoughts, it was now or never.

 

The coordinates pointed an out of hand colony, near the Terminus systems, not signed on the maps and closed to any kind of person that didn't count too much. It was entirely plausible for her to be there, after all he had to leave her in a semi dismissed hospital, not breathing and he hadn't seen her since then. Everything was possible and yet he thought he was only going to be left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

At the entrance of the little citadel, he was greeted by a familiar Spanish accent, causing him to sigh and approach the man who was standing at the acceptance desk.

“Vakarian.” he nodded, as the Turian approached him, showing impatience and fluttering his mandibles every now and then. “Are you here to pull a joke on me, Vega?” “Do I look like the type?” no response followed the statement, as Garrus was too busy giving him a rather unamused look. “Okay, okay. Just follow me.”

 

Everything went silent for what seemed like hours, hours spent walking through the bridges connecting the various apartments, spent looking at Vega in search of some kind of explanation, but no, the guy was as silent as ever. Then, he stopped right in front of the highest apartment, the one who had a view of the city, the king of the hill; they took the service entrance and went upstairs. The lights were off, the corridor lit by candles, the soft scent of roses filling the air. Suddenly, Vega stopped in front of a door, turning to face Garrus. “Okay, I'm being serious. Don't do anything stupid. Don't scream. Don't. Just don't.”

 

Clueless about what those words meant, he entered the room, looking behind his shoulders just to see Vega nod in his general direction, then the door was closed again and it was impossible for him to escape. What if that was a joke? A trap? A whatever just to kill him? A...

 

_Garrus..._

He thought he was still drunk. He could clearly hear her voice again, soft words echoing in his ears over and over. He sighed and finally proceeded to get past the small corridor leading to the master bedroom, the scent getting heavier as he went past the curtains and finally in front of the round bed where a woman with bright red hair was sitting on, her eyes busy looking at a datapad. But then, she lifted her head and looked up to him, her beautiful eyes flashing open in surprise.

 

“Garrus...”

 

That voice, those eyes... He stood silent, still trying to find something that was going to tell him that she was a fake, that she couldn't possibly be the woman he thought was dead until a few seconds ago. “Shepard...” he murmured, his voice low, his hands shaking but well covered by the armor he was wearing; no, she was the one, those eyes, her hair, her... Scent. That familiar, delicate scent that seemed to be natural in her.

 

And a moment after, he found himself embracing her, his arms tightly wrap around her thing waist, face buried in her hair; she slowly tilted her head up, her hand creeping up to cup his cheek, her eyes now closed as she softly pressed her lips against his.

 

And finally, the time began flowing again, as the ghosts of the past slowly returned to their graves.


End file.
